The High Road
by Sirabella
Summary: Added perspective on Home, Parts 1 and 2.  "I'm putting our family back together."  He isn't really talking about the missing one-third of the fleet.  He isn't just talking about his son, either, or even Starbuck. INCOMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

"I'm putting our family back together." He isn't really talking about the missing one-third of the fleet. He isn't just talking about his son, either, or even Starbuck. The thought hovers on the edge of his consciousness; he's not letting it through. Only a flicker of auburn zips past his mental roadblocks, but in its wake come flashes of her face, sometimes steely, always guarded… and occasionally warm, he's discovered, as almost by accident she has spent many of her less regimented hours with him. So much time spent shaping this new world of theirs; passing ideas, hopes and even bad jokes back and forth; giving every last breath, every last drop of blood necessary to keep these last vestiges of humanity together, as one.

Two of Boomer's bullets in his chest changed everything. His mortality – a weakness in this new world if ever there was one – opened a door for Roslin, and she stepped through, holding that damned prophecy over her head like a beacon of truth and salvation. And by the gods, if he hasn't thought a hundred times before that if anything ever shone brighter than Laura Roslin herself, it could eclipse a sun. Not to mention the previous offer of an organized, protected, space-bound existence.

At least, that was it until they found something better. Together.

The possibility bubbles and forms before he can tamp it down. He is angry, hurt, betrayed – but might all of these things just be kneeling at the feet of his wounded pride? Adama is nauseated at the thought that perhaps he has acted like an injured dog whose master keeps on walking, leaving it behind. Never looking back.

As he stands in front of the mirror now, waiting only for Saul Tigh's voice announcing their arrival at Kobol, he can see the truth staring back at him. He was the one who walked away. Roslin never dissolved their little quorum of two; she only ever asked for his help, his advice, his arm to lean on when her monumental strength occasionally failed her. As he has.

He feels sick all over again.

The relative ease with which he and Roslin formed their alliance (discounting a few initial hiccups) probably fueled his misgivings, he suspects. He has never had a relationship of any kind that has been anything less than frakking difficult. Parents, lovers, wife, children, friends… he has spent more time fighting with them like cats and dogs, or freezing them out, than he ever has in loving them. Laura Roslin has always floated above his categories, never quite falling into place. He only knows that going to Kobol and bringing her back feels like reattaching a missing limb. And it will probably be just as painful.


	2. Chapter 2

He keeps his gun leveled at his son's head, just to impress upon Lee all that this whole mess has meant to him: not only children separated from their parents, as Dee pointed out, but children facing their parents across thick, bloody battle lines. And there are other lines that Lee has redrawn between them, lines that both had been working so hard to rub out, as if they were footprints in the sand to be washed away by a new tide. Lee's departure revealed them to be walls carved in rock, walls thrown up by Zak's death that had only just begun to erode.

Forgiving his son as he himself has been forgiven cannot entirely quench the desire to punish him just a little.

The next moment, he has his boy in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to care about old grudges and slow, honest reconciliation. They are both here—everything else lies dormant for now.

Starbuck also has trouble meeting his eyes; her own hold the same unraveled, disbelieving look that Lee's did. Adama can't embrace her—she is a warrior first and needs head-on reassurance of his trust more than an affirmation of love. He gives her that, too, gently brushing her hair behind her ear, because she is standing there, alive, returned safely from her suicide mission to Caprica. Once again, playing the odds where Starbuck is concerned has proven an exercise in futility, and he doesn't know why he forgot that, again, unless he can't help always preparing for the worst, hoping that he can somehow fortify himself against the pain of her prospective loss.

And suddenly, the shadow of his nightmares is standing before him, and when his mind clears, his hands are clenched around her neck, everyone is shouting, Lee is pulling him off, his chest is ablaze and he can't do anything but collapse, helpless and raging like a roped steer. With a Herculean effort, he shoves away the anger. This is not why he's here. If he can't end her now, this mechanized copy of the friend and comrade who never existed after all, he'll wait for his chance. The next time he gets hold of a loaded gun, he'll take any excuse to pull the trigger.

The damned toaster is infuriatingly loyal. Putting a bullet in her brain slides grudgingly onto his to-do list.

It is only when he is sitting alone under a tarp with a bedraggled Laura Roslin that the Sharon-thing is no longer of interest to him. It is the first time that he recognizes true forgiveness in himself. Laura (the occasion warrants conversion to a first-name basis) has accepted absolution from him where it was neither sought nor required, but simply because he needed to give it. It is a salve that sucks the sting right out of the wound, and they are back on their old footing almost before either one is ready to trust it again.

On the other hand, there is a new current of something running alongside the familiar, something he is reluctant to name. When she begins to second-guess the first vital decision of her presidency, the one that began to win her his respect, he scratches the surface of this new understanding, clarifying his gratitude, outlining their connection in terms they can use as a common language if their friendship should ever fail them again.

He has come to Kobol to win back his family, and if the peace glowing under the exhaustion on Laura's face is anything to go by, his mission is already a success. He refuses the temptation to be puzzled once again by the ease with which they shift from resentment to affection—things in his world usually move much more swiftly in the opposite direction—and simply resolves that she too should reap a harvest from Kobol that is worthy of the attendant suffering.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, kids, here's where it gets a bit more interesting. Dialogue! Woohoo! And a change from what we just didn't see to what never actually happened in canon. Please let me know if you think I've gone out of character; I hate that more than anything. ~~

The following day is, by some miracle, dry. They find just enough scraps of wood to build a decent fire, so Kara spits on her hands and gets to work. In the end, only five of them gather close to the blazing warmth. Zarek and his flunky have built their own campfire—their own little hotbed of rebellion, Adama thinks sourly. Helo and the thing with Sharon's face have built a small shelter some distance away, and they sit huddled in each other's arms. Adama notes proudly that the Chief sits with them, chatting unconcernedly, one hand resting casually on his rifle.

Returning his attention to his immediate surroundings, Adama stifles a snort, wondering at the speed with which the salvation of mankind has become his number two priority on this ill-conceived excursion to a cursed planet. There is a very short list of things that matter right now: the firelight dancing in Laura's hair; Lee reclining on his elbows, smiling up at her as they share a joke; Starbuck out cold, her head lolling on Laura's left thigh, a picture he'll take to his grave (Kara would only cringe in abject humiliation, and this is not blackmail material, this is _perfection_); Billy snoring softly, curled up on himself, seeming all of ten years old as he shifts fruitlessly back and forth, trying to get comfortable on the Commander's rucksack-turned-pillow.

Adama looks up as silence suddenly descends like a hawk diving on its prey. Laura and Lee are both fixed on him; he realizes he has been the topic of conversation between them. It's not so surprising. Other than an inherent goodness and a desire to serve, to be needed, they have very little else in common.

Lee skips deftly over the awkward pause. Or tries to. "So, Dad, know any good ghost stories?"

Adama gives him a rueful smile. "Ghosts? Don't you think we have enough of those, son?" The question is as gentle as he can make it, but Lee flinches and turns his head away. Of course, it is Laura who rescues them.

"Tell me about Zak?" The question brings only a mild ache, as opposed to the punch in the face it would have been only a few months ago. He wonders how she knows that.

"He was a good kid. Never ready for half the things he stuck his nose into. Good head on his shoulders, but so damned curious. You would think this guy here was the ringleader, but Zak dragged his brother into one sorry mess after another. Somewhere around seven or eight years old, and the two of them come sauntering up to the house, dripping with mud from head to toe. Zak's explanation? He was trying to catch a fish in the stream. With his bare hands. And what happened was the only thing that could have happened. Lee decided his brother was going to drown—in two feet of water—and leaped in after him. Carolanne and I actually discussed tying him to his bed after that, whenever we needed a break. Things might have been simpler if either one of us had followed through."

"He was the same as a teenager," Lee continues, and although the implication is clear (_when you weren't around_), the tone is free of accusation. "Mom had a hell of a time keeping him in line. Not that he ever really went off the rails; he was just the most stubborn frakker on the face of the planet. I really think reverse psychology was invented just for him. Things were different, though, after he met Kara. I could tell, that first time, the minute I walked through the door. She was the brightest star in his sky, and he was navigating by her. Which just goes to show," he picks up the pace again, seeming to sense the moment charging itself into a bolt of destabilizing emotion, "I mean, anyone using Starbuck as a steadying influence—"

"Hey," emanates a sleepy voice from Laura's other side. "I resemble that remark."

Adama grunts a laugh, and as he catches Roslin's eye across the flames, his breath staggers. Her expression is open and clear, just in this short step out of time, for once not mired in the griefs and terrors that dog all their heels, shadows brushed away by this fire-lit circle. Everything she is and represents is sparkling there, and he knows exactly why he's following her through the gates of Hell.

When by all the Lords of Kobol and their holy front teeth did he fall in love with Laura Roslin? It's not bad news, per se, it's just his godsdamn job to keep what's left of humanity breathing and in one piece, that's all, and she's only the frakking President. What might happen in twelve hours is anyone's guess, never mind next week or next month. Where are they supposed to find the foundation, or the time, for romance?

Then again, that isn't really what this is. Dating and relationships are things people go after, things they make time for, but this is happening almost in spite of them. This is happening because no one can stop it.

Except Lee, apparently, who shifts forward and raps his knuckles against his father's forehead. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"Smart ass," Adama grumbles back. He is grateful to Lee, though, for reeling him back in. "Just thinking. About what all this might lead to, if we're lucky. Earth. If it'll be like Caprica, like the Colonies aren't gone, just waiting for us to prove we can earn them again. There's one thing this war with the Cylons is good for, and that's making us think about why we deserve survival. I guess each of us"—his eyes drift again, this time in the direction of the Boomer double—"human and Cylon, is going to have to decide that for him- or herself."

"Well, the two of you"—Starbuck points at him, nods her head in Roslin's direction—"are pretty indispensable, considering you're personally liable for all our collective asses. Congratulations. Don't know about this guy, unless he's interested in taking a bullet for me."

Roslin gives her a playfully quelling look and pats Lee on the shoulder. "He's come in pretty handy so far. And he's very good at shutting up Zarek, which is always a plus."

"So say we all," Starbuck adds fervently.

Adama is concerned to see that Lee isn't smiling; he seems to be struggling with words. "Spit it out, son."

"That's not the reason," Lee whispers. "It's not because you're the Commander in charge of the Fleet's safety; it's not even because you save our lives every day, in a hundred different ways, even if it's just sustaining our faith in a better future." He pauses, swallowing hard. "You…you came after us. You're here. And I'm damned glad; I was not looking forward to doing this without you. And believe me, Dad, I know how hard that was for you—I know you. And you didn't leave us behind, not when you had a choice to keep us together. There are so few of us left…we have to stay together. Let's…let's not do this again. Ever."

Adama lets the tears burn his eyes for a second, just long enough for Lee to notice, before he blinks them away and stretches his hand out to his son, interlacing their fingers. "Yeah. Let's not."


	4. Chapter 4

It is a wet, miserable dawn, and Laura Roslin has never been able to sleep when it rains. Droplets bouncing and sliding off the tarp, slapping the ground, rustling in the leaves—they combine to form a taunting, percussive rhythm that chases the drowsiness straight out of her head. All who can sleep seem to be doing so, with the exception of their watchman. Adama is sitting with his back up against a tree, gun resting on his chest, his whole attitude simulating relaxation. She can't help smiling; he really is back. Two slugs in the chest only slowed him down for a while—her smile vanishes. Laura Roslin doesn't do guilt; in her position, it's too likely to paralyze rather than motivate. She doesn't regret being here, but the route she has taken is haunting her.

Adama looks up with a tired smile as she joins him under the tree. When he scoots over, there is just enough room for both of them to lean back, sitting shoulder to shoulder. She takes her time, and he waits her out. She is briefly distracted by the contradiction of such a passionate, even choleric temperament and such gentle patience housed within the same man.

"I was ready for a fair fight." She turns her head; she wants to say this to his face. "I was prepared for that. And then they threw Lee into the next cell…he had your blood all over his arms. He told me what had happened, and that Cottle was with the Fleet we couldn't find. That…" Her hand grasps his sleeve, for emphasis, for comfort, she doesn't know. "Just in case you're thinking I got my way in all of this…or congratulating yourself on your magnanimity in playing along," she teases him, softly bumping his shoulder with her own, "that was the moment when my way took a flying leap past the rearview mirror. I know Lee was right, that you struggled with this. So did I; I need you to know just how much. I've simply had to accept so many things that are six billion light-years the other side of acceptable. I've seen days I couldn't quite believe in, when nightmares were merely things that hadn't happened yet. And then there's the number one basic requirement of my job: having to make choices that are no choices at all." She pauses, shifts her body to face him completely. "Since that first day—_the_ day—I've been getting used to wielding that power over life and death for the remnants of humanity, and bearing half the responsibility. Apollo wasn't the only one who was dreading this—splitting us right down the middle. And to have to do it while you were fighting for your life...gods…"

She accepts the hand stretched out to her, curls her fingers around his in a promise. "Maybe I could shoulder all of this without you. But I don't want to find out."

His grip tightens, just briefly, and his eyes are fixed on some invisible horizon. She wonders what would happen if a Cylon tried to sneak up on them now.

"But I will, soon enough. Right?"

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to barricade herself against the turn this has taken. "Yes. And yes, I've known all along. The day I got the diagnosis was, well, the day all our lives changed forever." His face speaks volumes. "Bill, I couldn't tell you. It was a vulnerability that you could have used against me, declared me unfit to hold office if you thought it warranted, and I just couldn't take that risk. Not with almost 50,000 people scrambling for a grip on whatever was left to believe in. That list was already dangerously short."

Adama nods, jaw working soundlessly for a moment before he speaks again. "Not for me. That's why this whole mess…that's why I reacted the way I did. I had a lot of faith—in what we were building together. So when you sent Starbuck away and went off on this tangent that I couldn't follow, and it seemed to be all that mattered to you…well, it was a couple of short hops from hurt to angry to holding the mother of all grudges." He shoots her a rueful grin, squeezes her hand once more and lets it drop. "When Lee followed…I was furious, but it took a while for me to realize that I didn't know whom I hated or why, it was just pure rage. No real target, just feeding on itself. I couldn't live with that; there was too much at stake. For the Fleet, and for me."

She leans forward, slides to her knees in front of him. "Commander, I'm afraid that the time will come when our roads will diverge, and I will leave you behind. But until that day actually threatens…we are so much stronger together. I do believe that, I promise." She levers herself to her feet with a hand on his shoulder. "I think I'll try and get some more sleep. Looks like the rain's stopped."

He nods solemnly. "Looks like."

Roslin goes a few paces, stops and looks back. "I never said—thank you. And thanks for bringing Billy. It was so good to see him."

She wins a rare, full-on grin from him, and her balance suddenly shifts, nearly turning her ankle on the rocky terrain. "He was pretty glad to see you, too."


End file.
